


Turn Turtle

by Tsume_Yuki



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Don’t copy to another site, F/M, Gen, Seriously I shouldn't have to write that tag, but don't do it, don't post my work anywhere without my permission
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 05:58:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17861648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsume_Yuki/pseuds/Tsume_Yuki
Summary: Oh ho. Not the question he’d been expecting, and certainly not one he has any intentions of answering. Not truthfully anyway. Still, she’s perceptive. Not many who are unaware of his legend notice such a thing on their first meeting.“And why would you be interested in such a thing, Slow-Sawada?”“Slo- Oh, ha-ha. Turtle puns. As if I haven’t heard those before…”





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

When Sawada Kamehime manages to get through her first year of middle school without incident, the anxiety that'd been steadily tightening in her chest unfurls with sweeping relief.

Born with the memories of her previous incarnation, she'd gone through the first five of years of life cautiously. A papa called Iemitsu who worked overseas, a mama called Nana and a town called Namimori? Yeah, she had a right to be worried.

But when the old man visits, there's no incident. No supernatural fire, and despite demanding self-defence lessons... Kamehime relaxes.

Coincidence, she concludes, despite the growing worry as her first year of middle school draws closer.

But that too passes without incident.

Perhaps though, that is a little simplistic of an explanation.

 

Sawada Kamehime's life is riddled with puzzle pieces, pieces she has once witnessed form a bigger picture, but even then, there are bits that just do not add up.

There is no Tsunayoshi for a start; in those first five years before Papa brings his boss home, it just seems like a second chance at life. Nevermind that she is Japanese now (with some European heritage thrown in), nevermind that there's Italian lessons her father insists she receives via hand selected tutors. Nevermind that there are certain mannerisms he has, nevermind that she is certain that flash of matt-black she saw him squirrel away in a draw one early morning was a gun, nevermind that everything Papa does sets her teeth on edge.

He's still Papa, he still loves her even though his job (whatever that may be) keeps him away for so long.

And this is still her life, no matter how many alarm bells start ringing every so often (they never stop, she just gets better at ignoring them).

School, school only makes it worse.

She blazes ahead, knowledge from a previous life giving her so much of a head start but then Papa refuses to let her move up a grade (later, she shall look back on this and acknowledge it was to keep her safe; genii attract attention).

It's the people; a joyful baseball player, a determined boxer, a demon prefect.

They make her uncomfortable and Kamehime goes out of her way to avoid them (she doesn't count the incident in seventh grade. It's never been brought up again and for that she is thankful).

 

What matters is her entire elementary school career comes and goes quietly.

Papa is there for her graduation ceremony, ruffling her short bangs even though he looks tired. The rest of her hair is pulled back into twin pigtails, long whips of straight brown that fall down her back in two tails.

She's just a normal girl, a thirteen-year-old who's just made it through her first year of middle school with one normal parent and one who, while a little odd, clearly loves her.

It is on the tentative cusp of her entrance to eighth grade that Kamehime decides it's all coincidence and finally relaxes, finally stuffs enough cotton over those alarm bells to muffle them and sleep peacefully.

 

 

Then, of course, at thirteen years old and one spring break away from becoming an eighth grader, she opens the front door to be greeted by a Mafioso. And it’s certainly not the one she’d been expecting.

 

 

Kamehime slams the door shut, back to the wood as her heart thunders.

She screams.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“Oh, sometimes Kame-chan can be so silly.”

Sawada Nana, mother to the future Tenth Vongola Decima giggles behind her hand and Byakuran beams back at her. This only confirms what his alternate selves have told him already; that in this alternate dimension it’s not Sawada Tsunayoshi at all. Instead there’s a girl with a different name and a different personality. But it’s still the same bloodline, it’s still the same destiny even if this is one of those world’s where everything is running a little behind.

“She’s surprised to see me,” Byakuran shares in a warm whisper, eyes still locked on the door and waiting for the Sawada child of this world to drum up her courage, “I didn’t tell her I was visiting~” That and he’d not exactly introduced himself yet either. But hey, the worlds where there’s a female Sawada (what he can remember of them anyway, stupid seal) are always fun. Now that his plans for world domination are bust, he might as well make himself comfortable for the grand show, right? Vongola Decimo/Decima has always proven amusing no matter what world it is, so why would he be the unlucky Byakuran to get a boring Decima? Well, to put it bluntly, he wouldn’t be.

The front door opens once again and Byakuran shifts, sitting upon the couch with his legs folded and his hands resting on his knees. Sawada still has soft looking brown hair, even if this is a gentle kind of soft as opposed to the fluff he’d been expecting. But hey, that’s a fifty-fifty thing if the Vongola heir is female. Those eyes should be brown, they’d been brown earlier, but now they’re a dazzling orange, Sky Flames snapping so close to the surface and- oh! Delightful! There’s no seal! Excellent, so much potential!

“Sawada-chan! I’m here to play our Mafia game, okay? We can be allies, right?” The deeply suspicious look just confirms she’s very much in the know about the whole Mafia thing, that’s good. Less explaining for him to do. It’s so much fun when the people he’s playing the grand game of life with actually know that they’re playing.

“You never told me you had a friend, Kame-chan. Or that he was so pretty.”

Byakuran preens under the compliment, doing his best not to snicker when ‘Kame-chan’ rolls her eyes. The fight leaves her shoulders however, as it should. If he’d posed any threat to her mother, he’d have killed the permanently dazed woman long before her Sky daughter got home.

“Sorry about that, Kaa-chan. I’m just gonna take Snowy here upstairs.” Snowy?

Disgruntled, Byakuran rises to his feet in one smooth motion that can only hint at a confidence in his body ill-suited to his age, a motion that only showcases his experience as a fighter. ‘Kame-chan’ watches with shrewd eyes, fingers twitching nervously even as Byakuran grins and makes his way over to her.

“Come on, Kame-chan, this’ll be the start of a beautiful friendship. I promise~”

 

 

 

It starts with an awkward conversation, then an admittance of moving in next door.

What follows is a constant intrusion into Sawada Kamehime’s house (and subsequently, her life). He doesn’t go away, keeps determinedly popping up, and slowly but surely, they grow attached to one another.

Byakuran tips her off on how to start actually using her flames and then, at night they’re sparring with one another, growing stronger. There’s so much untapped potential in her; the lessons she’s had in regard to gymnastics and martial arts give her a spring board to work from. Life in this small town isn’t as boring as he expected it to be. The mandatory tutoring his father had insisted on when he declared his intentions to move to Japan are boring, but he puts up with them.

Because there hadn’t been a Kamehime in any other dimension. She’s new and unexplored and for someone who’s traversed countless alternate worlds (so to speak), that’s more than enough to amuse him.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

It’s strange. Two years have passed since she had come home to an utter stranger sitting in her home, in her home with her civilian mother and he’d been dangerous. Real dangerous. She’d have been able to tell that from a look, even if she hadn’t known that face. Or well, known the features of that face. Snow white hair, lilac eyes and a signature tattoo. It was a ghost of a previous lifetime, a character from a story. Until he wasn’t.

Now he’s Gesso Byakuran, her next-door neighbour who’d so thoroughly muscled his way into her life that she can’t quite picture how it’d been before, without him. Two whole years of his presence but it feels like he’s been here forever. There’d been a moment where they’d sat in her room, sizing each other up before the light-haired boy had come clean. That he now knew he’d never be able to take over the world so why not try and make friends with the variation of the one who’d stopped him? He’d smiled, as if admitting he’d killed off some variation of herself in an alternate world was something that could be brushed under the rug. And, well, turns out it could.

In return, Kamehime had spoken a truth she’d not admitted to another yet; that she could remember a life before this one. While not saying anything of this world being a tale in her old one, Byakuran had laughed and smiled, commenting upon what a pair they were. It’s the truth, they are strange.

Oddly enough, Kamehime’s okay with that.

 

 

 

“I’m going, Mama!”

“Have a good day at school, Kame-chan!” Closing the door behind her, Kamehime rolls her shoulders back, adjusting to the weight of her backpack before striding down the front yard. As usual, Byakuran waits by the gate, only this time he’s wearing the uniform of Namimori High.

“What are you wearing.”

“My school uniform, Hime.”

“That’s only for students.”

“Well it’s a good thing I’m a student then! There wasn’t a point in joining school until we’d be at the same one, even if it’s in different years~”

Rolling her eyes, Kamehime stuffs one hand into her blazer pocket, the other curling around the strap of her bag. It’ll be her first day at High School (another place that’s ruled by Hibari’s iron fist) and her classmates are already… so out of reach. She doesn’t quite know how to interact with them, having been too mature for them in Elementary, and then too sure of herself in Middle School. An adult’s confidence seemed to throw them off.

Any hopes she has of making a handful of friends are surely flushed down the drain in the face of Byakuran’s presence alongside her. He’s not exactly subtle, or emboldening.

iHiLong fingers work their way into her grasp, forcibly removing her hand from where it’d been wrapped around her bag to instead be intertwined with Byakuran’s. Unadorned palm against a fingerless glove.

“What are you doing.”

“Come on, Hime. We’re best friends, aren’t we?” Byakuran grins, eyes curving up even as he angles his head to the sky. Curse him and his ridiculously tall frame.

“You’ve sensed him too, right?”

“That we’re being watched?” Kamehime mutters, tightening her grip on Byakuran’s hand for a moment before allowing it to slacken. “Yeah, I have. No idea who it is though.”

“Well I know~”

Elbowing Byakuran in the side, Kamehime forcibly instils an illusion of distance between them.

Their hands remain linked however for the rest of the journey to school.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Starting at the pale brown door, Reborn's lips quirk up in amusement, the wooden entryway doing little to muffle the chatter from inside. Adjusting his stance, Reborn glances covertly around, confirming with his eyes what his mind has already assessed; there is no one else around. Just himself and his newest charge.

Sawada Kamehime, fifteen and a half years old, trained in martial arts and gymnastics, in the upper percentile of her class barring English, which she is unofficially prodigious in. Understands it as a native would, one report states. A loner, through personal choice rather than the ostracization of her peers. There's a tentative link with the baseball star Yamamoto Takeshi, an unacknowledged, unrequited puppy crush from the boy's side. There'd been a few very interesting facts he'd discovered upon further digging into that connection, but that is something best considered later; he's here for Kamehime, after all.

Sucking a deep breath into his tiny lungs, lips pressing together in what Reborn knows is his most adorable pout, he taps repeatedly at the wooden door.

"I'm lost. Can you help me? Pwease?" The lisp. It never fails to get them, still gets most of them even if they do know who he is. Know what he is. Those that know he's acting but still fall for it regardless.

This girl is no different; there's a hesitant pause before, ever so slowly, the door opens and light brown eyes peer cautiously out. Widening his eyes ever so slightly (it's just so fun to mess with them, he has to get his kicks somewhere now that he can't spend his time charming women into his bed), Reborn smiles hopefully up at Sawada, imploring her to open the door that little bit more.

She does. Even crouches down to his level.

Dino hadn't down that, Dino had just stared at him with unabated horror. Dino had known what was coming though, had known what his presence meant. This one, she doesn't have a clue.

Oh, but she will soon enough. She will.

"Can I help you?" Sawada asks softly, a gentleness to her face that Reborn is surely going to have to beat out of her. A shame, just a few more years and those features would have been enough to entice his interest for a night or two. Were she not been attached to Vongola so tightly, were he not trapped in this infant body. That it'd drive Iemitsu to tears as much as that blond fool almost does to Reborn would just be a plus.

Regardless, he's had no choice but to put that particular aspect of his lifestyle on hold... indefinitely. Sawada is his newest student. Nothing more.

"Are you Sawada Kamehime?" He drops the childish lisp, drops the careful waver to his words and the change startles her.

She recovers quickly. But not quickly enough, not for his liking. He'll have to beat that into her too.

"...Yes, I am. And it would appear you're looking for me. Mama doesn't have any friends and no one school-related would stop by without leaving a message, so that must mean you're an associate of my Papa."

Hmm, a quick brain. Yes, he can work with this.

“I have travelled all the way from Italy to tutor you, at the request of your father’s boss.”

Sawada’s lips thin, eyebrows dropping low over her eyes. Nonetheless, she pushes the door further open, the sharp intensity of her gaze assessing him; the famed Vongola intuition at work? Perhaps. If Reborn’s lucky, that is.

He walks in and, even though it’s been years, decades, he still yearns for the long legs that would have easily eaten up the distance between the door and the living room.

Leaping up onto the plush cushion of the sofa, Reborn makes himself comfortable, watching as Sawada eyes him right back. She’s got good muscle tone in her arms and legs, as should be expected of a gymnast. Not Olympic level, but national certainly.

If Iemitsu had ever allowed her to compete, that is.

After all, a Sawada suddenly making waves in any form of capacity, one who’s forename is just so coincidentally of the same naming pattern as the CEDEF’s Head… it’d have made her a prime target.

Perhaps the Vongola intuition was at work there too, silently compelling the girl to submit to her father’ request to not compete.

There’s a certain level of body modesty to the girl; she pulls sheepishly at the hem of her shirt, the top just old enough to have shrunk in the wash, leaving a small stripe of pale flesh exposed whenever her arms shift.

Her thoughts are a muddled mess, moving about far too quickly, too hazy for him to get a secure grasp on them. He is capable enough to gather that they’re in a mixture of English and Japanese, something usually only found in those that’ve bene culturally immersed in two languages right from the start of their lives. Being ambidextrous with language is perhaps the best description.

But then; why English? According to Iemitsu’s reports, the girl’s exposure to Italian came years before English. Something isn’t adding up.

Perfect. Reborn has always loved a good puzzle.

“What are your plans for the future, Sawada Kamehime?”

“You can just call me Kame,” the girl mutters, tucking one long bang behind her ear, “it’s less of a mouthful. And I’m on track to become an elementary school teacher, tutor-san.”

A teacher. Not exactly what he had been expecting, especially of a child of Iemitsu.

“I am Reborn, the home tutor; you will be scrapping your plans of teaching, because I shall be turning you into a mafia boss.”

He waits, waits for the stunned disbelief, maybe a shout, a loud denial. But it doesn’t come.

Instead, there’s only pained resignation; Sawada Kamehime sitting herself down upon the back of the couch with her feet firmly planted upon the arm of the sofa (that’s not how a boss sits, he shall have to drill that into her too), as she buries her face into her hands.

“A mafia boss,” she mutters, the words muffled by her palms and Reborn swipes out, kicking one of her ankles. She falls onto the sofa itself, cursing beneath her breath, though there’s no expletives. Good. It’s not proper for a boss to swear so unbecomingly.

“Yes. You have no choice in the matter.”

The girl’s mouth tightens until there’s only the slightest hint of a pale pink line to show she has any lips at all.

She’s taking this remarkably well. Unnaturally so. Any other civilian would have at least fired a few questions at him, either on the mafia or the appearance of his current from, but from Sawada Kamehime, he gets neither. Perhaps she needs a bit of clarification.

“You see, the first son qualified to lead the 10th generation, Enrico, was shot in a feud. His younger brother was drowned, and all we found of Federico, the third child, were his bones. So really, you are the only candidate left. Any questions?”

Smiling demurely at the girl, Reborn cocks his head to a side; she climbs slowly from the crumpled heap he’d sent her into, fingers clenching into the fabric of the sofa. Not so unaffected after all.

“Yeah, just one. What are you?”

“I’m the World’s Greatest Hitman, Reborn.”

“That’s,” she drags one hand down the side of her face, head cocking to a side as she considers him once again, “not what I meant. I want to know why you’ve got the eyes and mannerisms of an adult, but the body of a baby.”

Oh ho. Not the question he’d been expecting, and certainly not one he has any intentions of answering. Not truthfully anyway. Still, she’s perceptive. Not many who are unaware of his legend notice such a thing on their first meeting.

“And why would you be interested in such a thing, Slow-Sawada?”

“Slo- Oh, ha-ha. Turtle puns. As if I haven’t heard those before…” Sawada threads her fingers through her hair, painstakingly gathering it up into a messy bun that sits still at the back of her skull. Once she is done, the dull orange of her eyes turn on him a second time, thin brows puckering above them. “Because I’m trying to decide if you remember your past life like me, or if it’s something different.”

Reborn has Leon-gun pointed at Sawada before she’s even finished her sentence, hat tilted to shadow his face and a scowl on his lips.

 

“Explain. Now.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

 

"You remember all of your previous life."

Sighing, Kamehime pulls at the edges of a worn shirt, one previously used for workouts but she can hardly get away with wearing her usual sleeping attire now that a grown-man-turned-baby is sharing her room.

After a painstaking half hour in which she'd spent her time explaining most of her life so far, coupled with her theories on why she has her previous memories, Kamehime had been interrupted by her own mother announcing tea was complete. Reborn, strange being he is, had instantly charmed her mum into allowing him to stay, passing himself off as a tutor sent to improve Kamehime's already stellar grades into something awe-inspiring. Nana had swallowed it hook, line and sinker. Which has resulted in her bedroom being occupied by the World's Greatest Hitman and her bedtime-wear of panties and nothing else being scrapped.

"Almost all of it; I remember the key points but it's much like playing a video-game. You learn things from going through the story that can apply to real life, but I have none of the skills if I haven't practiced them in real life, no matter the theoretical knowledge. My brain is nevertheless that of a teenager, so the emotions, the chemical imbalances that puberty has brought..." Trailing off, Kamehime shrugs her shoulders, perching herself down on the edge of her bed to better stare at Reborn. He's set up shop on her desk for the moment, looking perfectly comfortable sitting with his legs folded and the little chameleon still scampering around on the brim of his hat.

"And in your previous life?"

"I managed half a year as a primary school teacher, English born and bred, before I died. Don't ask me how; I still don't remember."

"That explains your life ambition. However, you will now drop that goal. As you are starting your Mafia training late, we have a lot to catch up on. An adult's understanding of the world will aid you but, make no mistake, this is not an opt out scenario." Cherub like features pressing into a sweet smile, Reborn flips open his suitcase, peeling a sleeping bag and hammock free from the innards. Kamehime watches with sleepy eyes, head already spinning; irritatingly enough, there's a backing track of Byakuran's laughter echoing in her mind. He'd known something like this was coming. It's how he is. And he'd not seen fit to warn her, the ass. There's no way her control-freak best friend hadn't known the World's Greatest Hitman was en route to Japan.

"Also, you'll be explaining the Gesso heir's presence. Right now."

"I don't know what to tell you. He turned up one day, two years ago. Even got Mama to invite him in. Which, if he hadn't had friendly intentions, would have cost me my mother. I'm assuming we can do something about the lacklustre security?"

"Don't dance around the subject, Slow-Sawada."

Scowling, Kamehime flops down onto her side, rolling until she's laid out across her bed, still glaring over at Reborn. "If you're that bothered about it, go ask him. The most he's ever told me is something about parallel worlds, this one being behind the times, and that I'm adorable, regardless." Ignoring the slight fluster to her cheeks, Kamehime presses on, "If you're that desperate for answers you're welcome to try plying them out of Bya-kun."

"Cute couple nicknames. You will drop that as well; as a Boss, you can show no favour to those outside the Family unless the reasoning is made apparent and profits the Family."

"I am not ditching my best friend. Try again."

The click of a gun echoes through the room and Kamehime flinches at the noise, despite the assurance that Reborn won't do away with her. She's the last descendant. If he kills her off, he'll have to deal with a very unhappy Vongola Family and a displeased Byakuran. She's convinced the white-haired menace would be devastated by her untimely passing. It still doesn't kill the impulsive urge to beg for mercy.

She will have to get used to the guns. She's got no other choice given what life now has planned out for her.

"Bya-kun's been with me longer than I've been the… Vongolie heir."

"Vongola," Reborn corrects forcefully, hat covering the upper half of his face with an ominous shadow. The gun remains levelled at her face.

Kamehime determinedly ignores it, shuffling about in her bed until she's snuggled comfortably beneath the covers.

"He's my ally."

"He's a wretched choice of an ally."

"For you, maybe."

There's an uneasy moment where Kamehime continues to glare at Reborn from the shelter of her fluffy quilts, the sole protection she has against the gun in his hand. It's incredibly tough to stare a man (baby?) down when you cannot meet their eyes. Then, the moment passes, the gun transforming back into the little chameleon. She tries not to look too much.

"You have guts. Good. Get some sleep, Slow-Sawada. Training begins at dawn."

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

Sawada Kamehime had been under the impression 'dawn' actually meant somewhere around seven. He had revised her of that misconception swiftly. Instead, it is now seven o'clock and his latest student has just stumbled back into the room, legs shaking after their run.

"Aren't you an athlete, Slow-Sawada?"

"Gymnast and trained in MMA. Both things rarely last over three minutes. Very different to a ninety-minute run."

"Don't flatter yourself, it's unbecoming of a boss. That was a gentle jog by mafia standards."

Kamehime offers him a black glare and Reborn serves a cherubic smile on the return. Interaction comes easier if he tries not to think too much on how comparable their situation is; both in a body they are unfamiliar with, though Kamehime's grows. That she has a lifetime worth of memories (despite dying in her early twenties that doesn't matter; a lot of mafia die in their early twenties unless you are good or well protected) helps conversation, if only because Reborn does not have to butter things up for an unsuspecting civilian teenager to easily swallow.

"Regardless of the exercise, it still seems far too much, far too soon."

"It won't be when we awaken your Flames." At that, Kamehime cocks her head back, offering him a curious glance before she turns her attention to the school uniform laid out across her bed. The dressing gown hits the floor, exposing the simple tee-shirt bra and panties beneath it. After Reborn establishes he would be going nowhere, acting as both her bodyguard and her tutor, Kamehime had relaxed her tight hold on the concept of modesty. She's too young for him to have been truly interested were he in the correct body (even though the thought of Iemitsu's resulting breakdown is a sweet thing to imagine), and Kamehime seems to have acknowledged he will eventually end up seeing her reduced to this level of decency at some point in the future. He had, after all, been upfront about the Dying Will Bullets and their side-effects.

Once the skirt and the shirt are on, Kamehime seats herself on the bed and rolls one white sock up her leg, even though her gaze focuses upon him.

Reborn remains perfectly still, his eyes never leaving Kamehime's but, nonetheless, taking in as much of the room as possible. She's proud of her achievements (scholarly awards from one 'Namimori Middle' lined up alongside local gymnastic trophies), still practices martial arts (there's the sleeve of a uniform poking out from the semi-closed door of her wardrobe) and she has an interest in foreign poetry (a handful of books, both English and Italian, alongside her own written verses stacked upon her desk). The bedroom is tidy enough, books arranged by language then alphabetically, bedding neat but not made with military precision; he wants to hide his face in second-hand embarrassment when he spots Iemitsu' 'work photos' pinned proudly to the western wall.

"I'd have expected you to tear your father's pictures down by now."

"He's doing what he thinks is best for us, or so I hope. Until I have proof otherwise, they stay."

Kamehime's slender arms stretch, reaching for the top shelf of her wardrobe. She has the typical Japanese build, all willow limbs and short stature. That'll make it problematic to appear imposing but Reborn has ever loved a challenge. The eyes alone mean they already have one avenue they can traverse for that. Nothing intimidates a mafia man like a Sky about to flare and Kamehime's eyes mean she will always make others uneasy. There'll be no slight warning as is with others; with those eyes of hers, no one will notice she's flaring until it's too late and her flames are out.

"A desirable attitude for a boss to have. Now, let's go. You have a pop quiz on the way to school."

"I do?"

"Yes, on mafia trivia. Score less than 60% and you earn a forfeit."

 

 

 

The Gesso heir is waiting at the bottom of the drive. With one hand in his pocket, choker around his neck and wrists weighed down with a multitude of bangles, he's far from the model student. When he spots Reborn, his eyes (lilac and with a troublesome amount of mania to them) all but light up.

"Hime-chan! You've gained an adorable bundle of sunshine." Oh. That nickname is not okay. The smile that Reborn drags up from the depths of his soul has only ever been offered to three other people before. It'd been the last smile they'd ever seen. Gesso doesn't step back, but he does stop smiling. Good.

Calmly settling himself more securely upon Kamehime's shoulders, Reborn rests his head atop hers, peering at the other Mafioso. From every angle he's looked at it, it truly seems like the Gesso heir upped and move to Japan with no ulterior motive at all. That makes Reborn suspicious. He doesn't believe in coincidences (a lesson learnt early in his life and repeatedly hammered into him) which means he's missing something here.

Reborn, the World's Greatest Hitman, does not miss things.

"Please don't taunt the Mafia assassin, Bya-kun." Gesso hums, all cheery smiles again. When he reaches for Kamehime's hand, Reborn fires a warning shot. It doesn't hit but goes close enough to Gesso's wrist that the brat can feel the heat of the bullet as it passes by.

"Hands off, Gesso. Kamehime is the Vongola heir now and, mafia born as you are, I'm sure you're well informed on what is appropriate and what is not."

"But guardians get special treatment~" That voice is already starting to grate on his nerves. Even more irritating are the words themselves.

"You are a Sky," Reborn states and he need not punctuate that sentence and further; the gun in his hands is exclamation enough.

"With a secondary Lightning Flame."

"Do not test me, Gesso."

"I think that's quite enough," Kamehime grunts, pulling sharply on his leg while pinching Gesso's side. The boy whines dramatically used to the reprimand. Reborn, however, is not. He presses the muzzle of his gun to the side of Kamehime's head but she's clearly compartmentalised the fact he needs her alive until the job is completed. Though there is a slight flinch at the pressure the weapon creates against her temple, she doesn't release her hold on his ankle Instead, her other hand comes up to curl around his left one and she smiles at the passing couple and their child. Ah passing him off as a younger brother playing about with a toy. At least she's quick on the uptake.

"Between the three of us, there's five life-times of experience and a patchy knowledge of other universes-" Ho? There is, is there? That must be Gesso then for Reborn is relatively certain that Kamehime would have imparted that knowledge to him yesterday. "-I think we are mature enough to get on."

"Hime-chan is far too good to be involved in the Mafia," Gesso giggles, peeling a hand free of his pocket. What Reborn had assumed to be some kind of explosive putty based on the shape and consistency alone turns out to be a fist full of marshmallows. He watches with a horrified kind of fascination as the Gesso shovels the entire lot between his lips and chews. From the lack of shock to Kamehime's face, it can be deduced that this is normal behaviour. Brilliant. If Reborn's lucky, the idiot will induce a heart-attack on his own and the Hitman won't have to contribute at all.

As the chain around his neck can dictate, Reborn has never been able to call himself 'lucky'.

"May I ask what it is you plan to do while we are at school?" Kamehime asks, releasing the hold she has upon his ankles. Reborn cocks one back into the tender flesh of her chest (just above her breast because he's irritated not an utter asshole), heel digging in with the motion.

"Do not grab my ankle again, Slow-Sawada. As for what I will be doing while you are being a dedicated, attentive student-" He says this with a black threat lurking in his tone, hinting at what will come should she not meet his expectations. From the shallow gulp, Kamehime receives his message loud and clear. "-observing." He needs to explore the school in full, install a myriad of hidey-holes, inspect the administration, consult the student body and determine if there are any who could potentially fill all of Kamehime's empty Guardian slots. He doesn't care what Gesso says; as far as Reborn is concerned, it's a momentary thing.

"Right. While you're 'observing' please don't draw Hibari's attention yet. Given I'll undoubtedly be taught how to fight instead of spar, it's ineluctable that I'll gain his attentions eventually, but I'd like to avoid that for the immediate future."

"I'll consider it, Slow-Sawada." Well, he has his first order of business. Locate, observe and assess this 'Hibari'.

 

 

 

It's Fon. It's Fon but with silver eyes and just on the cusp of adulthood.

Crouching low on the overhead lighting he has taken residency upon, Reborn peers down at the teen, a notebook balanced upon his leg and Leon-pen in hand. It's almost admirable, the sheer level of 'don't-fuck-with-me' that the kid excludes. While they may be near carbon copies, it's apparent this 'Hibari's' attitude is right on the other end of the scale. He moves as a predator would, watching the flock of prey shuffle about in his territory, patrolling and just waiting for the nail that stands out. All so he can hammer it back down.

Reborn has already bore witness to the thrashing he'd given the latecomers. It'd been poetic; tonfas flashing and Cloud Flames bubbling so close to the surface that the hitman might not even have to give the boy the nudge to activate them. He could probably manage it all on his own. He can definitely see why Kamehime wants to avoid gaining the boy's attention. Once she gets it, there'll be no getting rid of him, that is unmistakable.

As much as he wants to see the sparks fly from provoking the hellcat, he'll leave it be. For now. The promise of chaos is a seductive mistress and Reborn her ever eager servant.

Instead, he shifts his considerations to Kamehime's class. Gesso is her senior, by a year or by two, Reborn doesn't care. That he's not in her class is good enough for him. Efficiently shifting a roof tile out the way, he deploys Leon-periscope, scanning the classroom. Kamehime has a central seat (by far the most undesirable one; right in the middle of the pack, equal opportunity for attacks from every side), and her near golden-brown hair makes her easily detectable. There's merely one other girl with natural hair light enough to gain attention. He ignores the dyed blondes, three busy inspecting their nails and another scrolling through porn on her phone, half-hidden beneath the table. Evidently, the teacher is an incompetent; he'll have to up Kamehime's studies to ensure she's up to standards.

Finally, he spots the person he'd been seeking. Yamamoto Takeshi; former baseball player and now amateur swordsman. An excellent candidate to join Kamehime's family, given she already possesses an uncollected life-debt. It hadn't been onerous to find a write-up of the incident that occurred during Middle School; an injury that stopped his love of baseball, a spiralling depression, a comment made offhand by an ignorant classmate. It'd ended in a suicide attempted that the future Tenth of Vongola had prevented, saving Yamamoto Takeshi's life and shattering the baseball team's hopes of ever getting their star player back. Kamehime had gone right back to overlooking the rest of her classmates (after a reported blow-out with one of the baseball club's representatives; they had suspended her for three days as an aftereffect of using MMA training on a fellow student) and Yamamoto Takeshi develops the most painfully blatant puppy-crush that Reborn has witnessed in a long while.

Even now the teen isn't focused on the lesson's contents, staring at Kamehime from his seat two rows back and one to the left. Another one he'll have to… impart the value of a good education on.

With any luck, the boy'll be a Lightning and he can get rid of Gesso by the end of the week. It seems the pickings for future Guardians at this school is slim; only the Fon-clone and the Puppy so far. That's fine. He has contingencies in place. Speaking of which…

Crawling back into the roof, Reborn takes care to replace the roof-tile. It's just in time; the gap closes just the second Kamehime's head whips around. The Vongola Hyper Intuition at work? He hopes so; it'll make his job considerably easier if that is the case. Hand out, Reborn punches a number into Leon-phone and then presses the receiver to his ear.

"Who the fuck is this! How the fuck did you get this number, it's supposed to be fucking blocked you dip-"

"Is this Gokudera Hayato?"

"Wha- How the fuck do you know that! Who the fuck is this!"

Reborn flicks a swift glance over his notes and, humming beneath his breat, mentally crosses off 'Storm'.

"This is Reborn."

"… _oh_."

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I've had the idea for a while, I'll see if I can write more while I'm on my re-reading KHR kick.


End file.
